Archive for September, 2012

My 6 year old daughter Regine came back from her nursery one day and told me she wanted a pet rabbit. That was when I went – Oh shit. You see, I am never fond of rearing an animal as pet. I think it’s cruel. And also, I do not believe that animals and humans can (should) co-habit together under one roof.

So with a feigned concerned look, I held my daughter and looked at her in the eyes and told her this – “Regine, do you really think a rabbit would be happy to live here with us?”

She didn’t respond – positive sign. I pressed further.

Me: “A rabbit that lives here in our apartment will become a sad rabbit, without its friends and relatives. It will be alone.”

Regine: “We can keep 2 rabbits then!”

Oh shit x 2. Should have seen that coming. Contingency maneuver.

Me: “What about space? You think they’re going to be happy in a cage? It’s like being in a prison.”

Regine: “…”

Me: “It will have to poo and sleep in that cage, while you’re at school and we’re all at work. Lonely, sad rabbit”

Regine: “…”

Me: “A rabbit is not a toy, it’s a living thing. It’s cruel to keep a rabbit in a cage and watch it go sad.”

Regine: “…”

Me: “Can I buy you a soft toy rabbit instead?”

I was offering a solution to the problem. A soft toy rabbit.
a) It’s as cute as a real rabbit, if not cuter.
b) Doesn’t need feeding, and doesn’t poo.
c) It can stand neglect, and you can fucking machine wash it.
d) Most important of all, it lives forever (the kid won’t get sad over the death of a pet)

I thought it was a brilliant counter proposal, but that was when my daughter played the crying card. Tears started to roll down her face. She wasn’t even wailing, but just tears in utter silence. It was the most heart wrenching kind. For me, it simply meant – Oh shit x 3 – and I caved in.

Me: “Alright alright we’re gonna get you a freaking rabbit. But we’ll have to look around for one, ok?”

Her face then lit up like how I’d look if I were to be given a promotion at work… which kinda made me ponder how many instances in the long history of mankind have great men fell, to this nasty trick of crying card by the opposite gender…

Now I’m going to have to crack my head on how to get out from this terrible mess. The truth is, I am not ready to have a fucking rabbit in my house…

I don’t know if there are ladies out there reading this but in my best conservative guess, the chance is high that there are. So, ladies, if you get the chance to choose to become a housewife – for good or bad reasons – please fucking decline it. Are you listening to me? Fucking decline it. It’ll do you harm. A lot of it.

How do I know? About 70% of the ladies in my apartment block, are housewives. Yes, they don’t fucking go out to work. They stay at home all the time, taking care of screaming kids and shit. And all of them, are my wife’s friends. They come to my house all the time because apparently, kids bond well, and they’re exploiting the remote chance of getting to socialize with the outside world (my wife), and that’s when I get to glimpse at their dark personalities developed over the long period of unintended confinement. You get the idea.

Let me tell you how it’s going to fuck up your life.

a) Physical
No doubt it’s going to physically fuck you up. Because being a housewife pretty much means you have about a single digit number of friends (and that includes the bread guy who sells bread to you at night), and THAT, makes you lose the sense of vanity. You’re going to grow fat. You’re going to have cellulite and varicose veins. You’re going to be infested with armpit hairs. You’re going to stink like a filthy wiping cloth at the busiest mamak stall. You’re going to have zero appeal even to animals. It’s gonna be the saddest thing ever.

Now how can this happen? You see, the female species thrive on having to compare, gossip and get jealous in order to improve itself. By not getting to do that (by staying at home the whole day looking after the kids), you’d have nothing for you to compare against and therefore, cease the purpose of wanting to look awesome. It’s like a single tree that grows out from a piece of land – it won’t grow high to fight for sunlight. That’s how my neighbours look like. All of them.

b) Mental
The female species also thrive on having topics to gossip about and also ears to hear their problems. It’s sort of like an avenue for them alleviate their daily pain of having to keep secrets or knowledge within them. If they don’t get to do that, it’s going to affect their IQ and EQ. This is particularly critical for housewives. Just imagine, the most important/dramatic thing ever happened in their daily life, is probably taking out the trash using an alternate route to the dump. This would not bode well with having the need to share tales because there aren’t going to be much of them. So they sort of develop this inferiority complex, with a fair mix of extreme insecurity and would often than not, exaggerate tales on their own – like they’re fucking high on PCP. (BELIEVE IT!).

I’ll give you a true story example – it was the mother of that psychotic kid I wrote about – she told my wife that she used to be a badminton state player or something like that. When my wife cascaded the fact to me, I immediately rubbished the claim because she was only like 4 feet 9 to my humble estimate. If she’s a badminton state player, then I’d most definitely be the Six Million Dollar Man. Sure enough, one day I saw her playing badminton at the apartment compound and confirmed that she made the whole thing up. She couldn’t even play with a 7 year old. (and I won’t even dwell on the details of many instances of her loco-ish behavior that kind of disturbing even to my drunkest standard)

So, you can only imagine how deep the shit has poisoned her soul. All carbonized, black and shiny. She’d probably set off a metal detector on her own. I was wondering, would it be more different if she had chosen to work instead of being a full time housewife? I think yes. At least she would have better topics to talk about instead of making up stories like she’s a badminton state player or an ex-formula one driver!

My advice is, just go out and get something to do. It doesn’t have to be a posh job. You just need to have colleagues and friends, and keep your life on the move. Do some gossips. Criticize some bitches at the office. Get jealous. Do what’s normal. It’ll do you a lot more good. As for the kids – just send them to nurseries or daycares. Those professionals can teach your kids better (than you screaming at them).